Does Truth Change?
by owlcroft
Summary: What is the truth about who's to blame for that prison sentence?


A/N: With a wink and a nod to the original Gull's Way Collective, here's my offering to "the truth challenge".

And thanks to L.M.L. for the quick beta and for giving me absolution on the short ending!

DOES TRUTH CHANGE?

by

Owlcroft

Hardcastle glanced up as McCormick trod down the steps to the den. "You get that writ filed okay?"

"Yep, finally." Mark tugged off the tie which had been loosely looped around his neck and dropped it on the coffee table. "I got hold of Judge Gault and he agreed to sit for it. Hey, did you know he's getting ready to retire?"

"Winnie is? No kidding," the judge leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. "Huh. He's younger than I am."

McCormick plopped into his wing chair at the end of the desk. "Yeah, but you're not retired. Not exactly. Besides, he says he wants to come in with us as a junior partner in the Batman biz." He examined the briefcase in his lap with great attention.

Hardcastle shot him a glance from under his brows, caught just the slightest gleam of a smile, grinned broadly and barked out a "Hah!" He swiped a quick thumb across his nose, then added, "He still gonna give us five hours a month at the clinic?"

"Yeah. He's being pretty nice about it, too." Mark lowered his briefcase to the floor. "But I explained we don't have a lot of legal malpractice lawyers and he said he'd work it into his schedule. Might be ten hours one month and none the next, though. He's already booking a safari for his retirement present to himself."

"A safari, huh? Gonna get a partner for ol' Shere Khan?"

"Nah, photographic safari this time. He wants to get some good pictures of a black rhino for some reason." Mark stretched elaborately, then started to rise, hesitated, then dropped back into the chair.

"What?" asked Hardcastle. "Isn't it your turn to get dinner going?"

McCormick nodded. "Yeah, I'll get it started in a minute." He studied the floor for an instant, then looked back up at Hardcastle. "Judge Gault and I got to talking about Santangelo, you know, the legal mal case he handled for us back in March?"

The judge nodded. "Pretty clear cut, I thought. He got a re-try for the guy, right?"

Mark settled back in his chair a bit. "A re-try and then Stillson and Matthia got Santangelo a not guilty verdict. But something Gault said got me thinking. He told me Santangelo kept saying that he didn't blame his attorney for being drunk all through the first trial. He blamed the jury for not being able to tell." He glanced at the older man behind the desk briefly. "Gault said Santangelo made the point that the judge didn't have any choice after the verdict by the jury – that the people who let him down, who let the _system _down, were the jury of his peers who couldn't see that he was telling the truth."

Hardcastle eyed him calmly. "And?" he prompted.

"Well," McCormick laced his fingers together, then pulled them apart and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. "I was thinking about that coming home." He paused, then added, "But I guess I better get dinner started."

"Hey, wait a minute! I thought we were gonna have some big breakthrough here," protested the judge. "You were gonna say you shoulda been blaming the jury instead of me all that time or something."

McCormick smiled at him. "Well, I considered it. But the judge at a trial is the _face _of justice, kind of justice personified, you know?"

Hardcastle ran a hand over his chin. "So I'm still the bad guy?"

Mark leaned his chin on a palm and looked into space, a peaceful expression on his face. "It doesn't really matter any more. Hasn't for a long time. But you knew that."

"Yeah, I suppose I did. Still," the judge moved his letter opener fractionally to the left, "I just wondered . . . Ah, never mind. Get the pork chops going and use plenty of onions this time."

"Actually," said McCormick, pushing up out of the chair, "I stopped off on the way home and got something else for dinner." He shoved his hands into his pockets and swayed back and forth gently. "Something we haven't had for a while."

The judge eyed him suspiciously. "Am I gonna like it?" he demanded.

Mark shrugged. "Probably." He turned and headed up the steps and down the hall. His voice came back faint but clear. "You used to like liver and onions a lot."

_finis_


End file.
